Here's Bawlamer, Hon!

By Tom Lilly

He gave us a tip of his hat as he rolled the shopping cart out among the dozen or so early arrivals warming-up in the gym.

First came a large bag with club handles poking out the top. Next were five volleyballs; in an instant they were dancing in the air above him, weaving and bobbing in rhythm. As we mere mortals shared green grins, he dropped the balls, picked up three clubs, hoisted the cart to balance on his chin, and put the clubs through a rapid cascade.

"We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto," said my partner.

Across the bridge to Wynne wood Towers, the Loyola College dormitory serving as base camp for the International Jugglers Association 42nd Annual Convention. We were signed up for security, a two-hour-daily shift in bright orange T-shirts with the IJA logo on the front and "SECURITY?" emblazoned across the back.

"Well I'll sure sleep soundly tonight," said Susan, from North Carolina according to her convention badge. It's a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.

MONDAY MORNING: It's soup! After months of planning, passing around sign-up lists, and neglecting hearth and home, Mark Fisher has his computers purring as the family gathers; the parking lot already reads like a vanity riot: JUGGLER (3), MAGICO, MIME (2), DIABLO, I JEST, CLOWN (4), JOGGLER.

And the hot skinny from the Cascading Crab: HE is here! Who HE? Just a 16-year-old rumored to pull down $1,000 a week in Vegas for a nightly 16 minute set. Just a kid who sets the new record for five clubs at 45 minutes, ending with back crosses. Just the wonder who brings the gym to a standstill whenever HE floats in.. Just one of the guys. Right.

Yo: Security? Yeah, this is Wynnewood... got a fellow here from Dominos with a dozen pies... says they're for a Jack Shit. Any suggestions? Garbo? Gotcha.

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Reitz Arena is starting to look colonized. The Baltimore Jugglers Association's banner of a skipjack under full sail has been joined by half-a-dozen affiliate banners and counting.

The folks at the IJA and Affiliate tables are doing a land­office business in summer issues and newsletters, and the Scroll of Honor is well on its way to 17 feet of glad tidings.

Those taking a break avail themselves of over 18 dealers' tables featuring the stuff of dreams and award-winning-acts­to-be: balls and clubs, axes and machetes, acrylic globes to yo-yos, toppers and bowlers and caps, oh my! And don't forget a carry-all to help sneak the treasures past the spouse.

Gotta-haves: T-shirts from Several San Diegans Who Juggle and the Groundhog Juggling Festival number from the Atlanta Jugglers Association.

Security note: Sparkplug has full gym privileges. Sparkplug is the poodle who oversees the act of Bounce the Clown and Mademoiselle 0oo La La as Bounce spins soccer balls on both index fingers with a third on a stick in his mouth and 0oo La La wraps her legs around his waist and juggles three machetes. Artistes, ya know?

MIDNIGHT WEDNESDAY: Seven or eight dozen crazies are passing clubs, balls, rings, plungers (plungers?!) in the gym while two hundred others are settling down with everything from pizzas to sprout sandwiches for the start of the Renegade Stage.

Question: Does one have to be born a renegade or can one evolve into it? Not only do these guys market their own line of props (day-glow clubs to torches to Balinese straight razors with 10-inch blades) but they also stage a nightly bull­goose-loony bash called the Renegade Stage, midnight to 2:00 a.m.(or so).

First-up is a lady in cowgirl-couture sporting a bullwhip; hubby is natty in a checkered suit and holds a newspaper. She demonstrates a whole new way to clip coupons.